


bury my heart

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort/Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 08:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3203348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were so many ugly things inside of him and he was tired of trying so hard to keep them from spilling out. He had been ready to die and it didn’t even matter where he went afterwards. It wasn’t as though he were suicidal, he had to tell himself that, but he wanted to do something right, be something right. The trials had burned through his guilt and his shame, they had started to purify him. But he didn’t finish them. And his hands were even dirtier than before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bury my heart

**Author's Note:**

> Coda fic for epi 9x11 ‘First Born’

Sam had smiled at Cas. Told him it was fine. That he was fine. That it was all right the spell didn’t work, they’d figure it out, and Sam put on his positive face - or at least tried to - before he retreated to his bedroom. He did have every intention of falling asleep. Of waking up rested and working with Cas to find Gadreel. But the longer he spent in the darkness of his bedroom, the more vivid the memories that were still trickling back in flashes to him were.

He remembered asking Dean about lost time, lost stretches of space as they seemed to move from one point to another and Sam didn’t remember what had happened in between. Mile markers on the highway just disappeared. He couldn’t remember how many times Dean had brushed him off the past months, told him he was sick, that he was still suffering the after effects of the aborted trials. And Sam believed him, God but did Sam want to believe him and it was easy for a time.

Now he can see everything that happened in the missing spaces between. After Cas extracted the backwash of Gadreel’s grace from him, it’s like everything in his mind that had been blanked over by the angel on purpose got ripped open. Like scabs, peeled and torn off too soon and the blood welled up fresh. There were conversations with Dean, and he could see the desperation and raw hurting in his brother. That didn’t make it right. That didn’t make Sam hurt any less.

He could see stolen moments of the angel spying, sneaking around, taking time from Sam and using him. He could see his hands on Kevin’s forehead and the bright blinding flash of light. Could see other people he hurt, whose name he didn’t even know, a man stabbed with an angel blade, a man with his throat slashed bleeding out in a living room.

In the darkness of his room with nothing but his mind to keep him company, sleep an indeterminable and unreachable distance out of his grasp, Sam kept playing back everything that he’d missed on a loop. He couldn’t take it. Slinking out of his room quietly, he retrieved a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen.

Sam wasn’t even certain where Cas was. If he slept at all. Cas had gone through quite a lot lately too, and Sam suspected that a good portion of it was because of Dean trying to protect him, trying to keep secrets buried. It was just another reason for Sam to be angry at Dean, but more than anything he was angry at himself.

He drank in silence and in darkness, alone and haunted.

By the time that Sam was halfway through the bottle, sitting up leaning back against the headboard with his knees tucked up to his chest and his forehead pressed against them crying quietly, he knew even drinking himself comatose wouldn’t get him any rest tonight. A sliver of light from the doorway streaked up the wall next to him and Sam squinted up at it.

"Sam?"

Sam stared dumbly, the bottle grasped weakly in his hand, blinking against the light from the hall.

"I had sensed your distress but I hoped it would abate, you need to sleep."

"I can’t."

Cas turned the light on and Sam flinched away from it. He didn’t want to see the pity, the concern, on Cas. He didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve to be healed. Cas came in and sat down on the bed next to him.

"I know that saying this again won’t make you believe it, but it’s not your fault."

Sam shook his head, things in it feeling loose with the alcohol, and his mouth was dry and his cheeks were wet; he stared at his knees still tucked up close to him.

"It is. He used my body, if, it couldn’t have happened without me, and if I’d of had the strength to finish the trials it wouldn’t have happened in the first place, it is my fault Cas, I did it."

Cas folded one knee up to turn on the bed and look at him.

"I can’t stop seeing it, all the memories that are coming back, I can’t stop."

Sam didn’t expect for Cas to stand up and walk away. Maybe he should have. He wanted something, and he didn’t know how to ask for it. But he just didn’t want to be left alone. Sam sniffed pitifully and hated himself for him. His hand was shaking finely when he lifted the bottle to drink again. Cas had left the light on.

There were so many ugly things inside of him and he was tired of trying so hard to keep them from spilling out. He had been ready to die and it didn’t even matter where he went afterwards. It wasn’t as though he were suicidal, he had to tell himself that, but he wanted to do something right, be something right. The trials had burned through his guilt and his shame, they had started to purify him. But he didn’t finish them. And his hands were even dirtier than before. 

Several minutes later, Sam heard Cas shuffling in to the bedroom again. His bottle was taken, and instead Cas was curled over him folding his hand around a warm mug, a cobalt blue one with a little chip on the lip. With a little nudging, Cas had seated himself next to Sam, pulled a blanket up around him and helped him hold this cup of hot tea.

"I found it amazing how the simplest things could bring so much comfort as a human. The kindness of others. A hot cup of tea. Warm liquids are surprisingly soothing."

Sam took a few small sips. He didn’t know when it was that Cas had started being so nice to him. He didn’t really deserve it, no matter how hard he tried, how hard he fought. The first time Cas called him an abomination, he rebelled against it. He had been so full of righteous anger and purpose then. He knows now that Cas was right. 

“I don’t know what to do Cas.”

“What you always do. Put yourself back together. Keep fighting.” 

“I feel so lost, I don’t know Cas, I don’t know what I am I don’t know what I’ve been, what I am, I don’t know.” 

Sam was hunched over his cup of tea, the steam warm against his face, and there was a broad palm stroking circles against his back through the blanket. 

“You are one of the strongest humans that I know Sam. And I have observed many throughout the centuries. It never ceases to amaze me how much you can endure and still stand straight. You are a good man.”

Sam shook his head, he didn’t really have any words left to say because he knew it was his fault and Cas wouldn’t concede the point. He wanted to bury his heart, cover it with dirt and rot and let it die so he would stop feeling. He wanted to lay down and let his body sink into the floor until he was nothing. He wanted to let the ghosts that haunted him have his body and his bones so he couldn’t hurt anyone again. 

Cas took his mug away from his unsteady hands and wrapped an arm around his shoulder; Sam leaned in to the contact, folding his wide frame over and tucking against Cas. He wanted to see light again, he wanted the angel to lead him out of the darkness. He wanted to believe what his friend said, to wrap himself up in Cas’ words and let them seal over the hate he held in his heart for himself. 

Cas held on to him tighter when Sam started to cling to his shirt and sob again. “It’ll be all right.” 

Sam held on with everything he had to what he needed most - something to hold on to him. Cas engulfed him, wrapped him tighter in blankets and Sam sank, sank, down on the bed until he was lying half draped over his friend. Cas was more than a friend, he was so many things Sam couldn’t put a name to. 

There were fingers pushing through his hair, tucking it behind the shell of an air, fingers light against his neck and they were so gentle with him, like he was a thing breaking, a thing to be held together. And he wanted to, wanted to be pieced back together but he couldn’t figure out how things fit anymore. He didn’t fit in this body that wasn’t even his. 

Cas was a solid steady presence. Sam could hear a heartbeat. He wondered if the angel’s body kept pushing blood through it’s vein autonomously, or if there was something different about Cas now. Something more different than the careful regard, the concern with Sam’s well being over the importance of their current mission. The shift of priorities. The humanity in him lingering even though he’d filled his vessel with stolen grace. 

They slipped lower on the bed curled around one another with the lights still on to keep the ghosts in the shadows away. Cas didn’t need to sleep, but he held on to Sam and mumbled that it would be all right. Halfway between sleep and intoxicated consciousness, Sam couldn’t decide if it was really himself or if it was Cas who needed to be convinced of that the most.

**Author's Note:**

> title/inspiration from Mumford and Son’s ‘Ghosts That We Knew’


End file.
